


War And All She Brings

by scp116



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Angst with a Happy Ending, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Memory Loss, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Draco Malfoy, Post-War, Tags May Change, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:08:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24304906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scp116/pseuds/scp116
Summary: It took one week. One week for Granger to invite him to the reunion, one week for him to see Potter for the first time in years, one week for him to fall to the concrete and hit his head a little too hard.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	War And All She Brings

Draco didn't care for parties much- not since his 17th birthday. It was an elegant affair, as to be expected if Narcissa Malfoy had anything to say about it. No, each one he'd been to since either featured thrumming music which wore at his migraine, or impeccably dressed socialites who wore at his patience. He hadn't been to many in recent years, not since the most recent Weasley had her third birthday. It was hardly a week ago. The balloons were a grating fuchsia, as was the toddler's dress, and the frosting smeared on her forehead. Granger stood against a table and poked Weasley in the side as he went for another slice of cake, lemon. Her absurd curls hadn't relaxed a bit, but at the least they'd gathered into tight ringlets which swayed as Weasley pulled her in for a kiss on the cheek. Draco shouldn't have been surprised to see her sprouting a few silvers, even if she was only his age. He'd half expected her to turn ginger halfway through their wedding- it wasn't out of the bounds of magic by any means.  
He hadn't so much attended as he had...witnessed, from the back of the park. He wasn't stalking per se, he took no interested in the newest Weaselette. No, he hadn't much even looked at her, aside from the gaudy dress catching his eye as she sprinted by. The book he'd brought to the park that day was rather appealing, but he kept finding himself glancing up to the happy couple. The years had been kind to them. Weasley had grown a rather handsome beard which Granger seemed to adore, even if Draco thought it just wasn't right on his still lanky frame. At the least, though, it made him look less of a child, as Draco remembered him. Weasley's gotten a tad pudgy around the middle, but he couldn't be blamed much for that. Rumor had it he'd picked up a desk job at the ministry, filling one of the dozens of positions left after the death eaters had been rooted out and sentenced. The ministry was an honorable line of work, but it wasn't so easy on the body after sixteen years.  
Granger hadn't changed much, aside from the sparse grey hairs. Crow's feet and a few sun spots, maybe-but they looked nice on her. Granted her that air of mature respectability she'd demanded in their school days. Draco watched as she gave tight smiles and tighter handshakes to guests as they arrived, each with yet another colorful box they'd shoddily wrapped and tied. He even saw the elder Weasley clan there, Molly still shepherding and scolding her flock of children, even though her youngest was at least 33 by then. But she hadn't changed a bit. She still had a welcoming smile for all who cared to see it, a tight hug she nearly killed her daughter-in-law with upon arrival, and eyes that laughed with her. It was those eyes which spotted him.  
She stopped and tilted her head like a puppy when she saw him, reaching into memories she'd lost years ago to try and remember who he was. He'd looked back down to his book once they made eye contact, deciding he'd spent far too much time people-watching, and buried himself back into the narrative. It was new, some autobiography he'd found on a small wire stand in a bookshop in Cardiff.  
“ _Potter wasn't the first to say something. Several before him had said the same thing, including Dumbledore himself. Potter wasn't the first nobody listened to, either. I still don't know if they really had themselves convinced it wasn't happening, or if they just didn't want to admit the truth to themselves. Admit that history was repeating itself, and the people they loved would soon be in danger. In a way, I can't blame them for beating down those who spoke up. If they listened, if they nodded their heads in agreement and took steps to prevent disaster, that would be admitting disaster was on the horizon. It hadn't been long enough for many of them. There were graves still being visited from his first chronicles of terror, prisoners still held for crimes committed the first time around. The ministry didn't listen, because they were still grieving. They still saw the carnage every time they closed their eyes.  
I wouldn't want to admit it either. But because they didn't, a whole new generation of wizards has those scars.  
Our graduating class was more than halved, and those of us who made it didn't have any life left in us to live. _”  
__ Granger took her seat on the bench beside him and crossed her legs, mimicking Draco. He sighed and folded his book after a quick charm to keep his place, then straightened. “What do you want, Granger?”  
“I see you got our invite, Draco.”  
He hadn't. Maybe he'd seen it somewhere in the pile of death threats, and dismissed it- only to coincidentally come to the same park on the same day at the same time. Maybe it wasn't a coincidence. What did it matter?  
“Yes, well. I thought I'd at least make an appearance. It's the polite thing to do, when one receives an invite.”  
She nodded, folding her hands in her lap. “Maybe so.” They sat in silence after that, for the most part. Draco was an expert in small talk, having been raised in polite society- but there was no small talk to be had here.  
“...how's the school, Professor Granger?” She smiled at her formal title, shielding her eyes from the sun.  
“Old as ever. You're think after rebuilding something older than England, you'd change a thing or two. But I suppose they thought castles are built to last.”  
“What are you teaching?”  
“Herbology.”  
“Fascinating. Maybe one day you'll get to teach a real subject.”  
She nodded and looked down, already regretting coming over. Malfoy hadn't lost his bark, not yet. “Maybe they'll give me one after I come back.” He stopped drumming his fingers on his book, tilting his head in her direction. “Come back?”  
She nodded and placed a hand on her stomach, keeping her eyes on the party. “I won't be leaving until December...if all goes as planned.” Draco didn't see the motion, his gaze fixed on what appeared to be Kenny Markham teaching eleven year old Evan Weasley how to defeat his father in wizard's chess on a concrete picnic bench.  
“Next week there's going to be a gathering in Sutton, at The Gander Inn. Thursday, 7'o'clock. Just the graduating class of '99.” Her lips were pressed tight as she paused, still unsure if she wanted him there. If the rest of their class wanted him there. “You should come.”  
Draco nodded, pulling the book into his lap. “I'll see if I can find the time.”  
Granger nodded and stood, straightening her romper. He didn't think she'd wear something like that in a million years- she looked lovely. The cream pattern complimented her darker tones, and for a moment he forgot about the pretentious wit she carried with her to this day.  
“I hope to see you then.”  
A week had come and gone, and here he was- slipping in the back door of The Gander Inn at 7:30. He used to love being the center of attention, especially among his peers- but it had been a million years since that boy walked the halls of Hogwarts with friends by his side. Draco seemed to have forgotten that last painful year. The stares, the sneers, the silent anger nobody had the energy to express. It had been a million years- but the grudges of child soldiers seem to last a million more.  
Saint Potter, that smug bastard, had been sitting at the end of the bar when he arrived half past. Draco almost didn't recognize him. His hair almost hid his face from everything but his whiskey, even with most of it tied back. The Weasley-Granger pair hadn't arrived yet- or maybe they wouldn't. After all, anyone they would have trusted to watch the children was already there. Most people who cared to say hello to Potter had probably already done so, and after pleasantries were exchanged, he'd fixed his thousand-yard stare on the clinking ice cubes in his drink.  
Draco tried to take his seat at the end of the bar, where he liked to sit when he did get a drink on his own, until Pansy trotted up and took his arm.  
“Long time no see, Malfoy. I'd thought you'd dropped off the ends of the earth.” He snorted and shook his head. “You haven't answered my messages for a bit-Merlin, I was about to phone the muggle police for a welfare check.” She dragged him to the middle of the bar and sat herself down, tugging out the stool beside her with her foot as she flagged down two drinks.  
“Messages? What, on that wretched muggle phone you got me? Parkinson, you know I don't bother myself with learning to use those things. Just owl me, if you insist on reaching me.”  
“Merlin, didn't you pay any attention to muggle studies? I thought the technology unit was fascinating. Even being literate with their nonsensical computing machines is a benefit. Let my poor owl have a break.”  
He laughs at this and takes the gin and tonic handed to him by the barkeep, giving him a friendly nod. Mundane pleasantries of the lower class still taunted him, but he was slowly getting the gist of it. He raised his glass to Pansy and clinked it to her Merlot, pausing.  
“To old friends and older bottles.”  
She nodded approvingly before going bottoms up on her glass, finishing the wine in roughly ten seconds.  
“Merlin, Parkinson. What happened to sensibility? Have you had anything to drink in days?”  
“I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that, and I'm also going to pretend I haven't seen you finish a bottle of port on your own in twenty minutes.”  
“Alright, fair enough.”  
He'd stayed close with Pansy after the war- close enough that she knew not hearing from him meant one of two things. Either he'd gotten backed up with potion requests and orders, or he'd forgotten that cell phones needed to be charged on occasion. When they were a bit younger Pansy would resort to searching muggle bars for him after a day or two- it only took one panicked call from a teaching hospital back in 2001 to have her keeping tabs on Draco for the rest of his natural god-forsaken life. It was for the best. Pansy was the only person he talked with after school- and for good reason. He would never, ever express to her how grateful he was that she didn't mention the bar he'd been found outside of that night.  
There was nothing important to discuss, not that night. Not in a public bar, anyways.  
Draco had just knocked back his third gin and tonic, and was flagging down his fourth when he felt eyes on him. He rubbed his face and looked around the room as Pansy was chugging her Merlot, his head spinning with wood panelling and clashing house colour schemes- when he spotted jade green eyes on him. He tensed for a moment, eyes narrowing back at the offending gaze, before turning away to take his drink and nod at the bartender. How long had Potter been staring at him? Actually, how long had Potter been staring at him like that? That wasn't how two people who made up their differences looked at each other. No, that wouldn't do. It simply wasn't appropriate to look at a man like that after you've put scars on his body that no healer could lift.  
There was a mirror behind Pansy's head, one he hadn't noticed when he walked in. He would have loved to listen to Pansy chatter on about her muggle fianceé, even console her about her fears of revealing the magical world to- Charlotte? Charlotte. (He was a good friend most days, but Merlin he was rubbish with names. Christ, how did he ever get through dinner with the pair?) But he couldn't take his eyes off Potter, who kept stealing glances up to him even after he'd been caught. The nerve of this fucking man. There was no reason for him to be staring, certainly not after their past quarrels- and he didn't have food on his face, nor did the glasses perched on his head punch up his hair in a strange way, unlike Potter's stupid mop, so he could fuck right off into another glass of Whiskey. If he was thinking of starting something, here, at a muggle bar of all places, Draco would be ready. If he wanted to dance, they could fucking dance.  
“-and I'm so excited for her to try butterbeer- she's very into those craft brews evidently, I even got us a tour of a distillery for her birthday, which, I don't get it, it all tastes like piss to me, but she- hey, my eyes are over here Malfoy. Stop staring at Potter.”  
“I'm not staring, he's staring! This fucking prat won't leave me be!”  
“He hasn't said a word all night, Malfoy. He's probably killing time until Weasley and Granger show up.”  
“Bullshite. You know saint Potter stirs up trouble everywhere he goes. I swear to Merlin I'll knock those stupid glasses off his nose.”  
Pansy shook her head and pulled her skirt lower on her knee, taking another sip. “He's not taunting you, Malfoy. You probably haven't crossed his mind in years, he's probably just...I don't know, looking at your glasses. You didn't have those in school. Or maybe he's thinking about how they bunch up your hair all weird.”  
His nose scrunched up as he huffed and plucked the plastic frames off his forehead, folding them and tucking one arm into the neck of his waistcoat. “You said they looked fine, Parkinson.”  
She went back on her rant about alcohol and Charlotte's newest hyper fixations, and Draco did his best to pay attention- he really did. He even responded a few times, indulging in her rant and remembering to sip his drink like he had forgotten about the git staring him in the back of the head for the past ten minutes. And he almost had, too, before he went to gesture for another drink and it hit him in the elbow before his hand fell to the counter. He turned to the bartender and raised a sly eyebrow, turning to face him a bit with a grin.  
“That was quick.”  
“From the gentleman at the end of the bar.”  
Draco's expression turned to a sneer as his eyes flicked up to the mirror, only to see Potter rising from his barstool and making his way towards the side door.

“What do you fucking want, Potter?” He felt the poison in every word, every time he spoke to Potter, but he couldn't help the malice that slipped out. Every time he'd had an excuse to speak to him, he'd ended the conversation with the urge to choke him against a wall or smack the shit out of him until he fought back- Potter's stupid mug fucking begged for it. He turned back to Malfoy, clutching his coat to his chest.  
“What are you on about?”  
“Look, if you want a fight, just come after me. I don't want to play these fucking mind games.” Potter leaned back a bit, crossing his arms across his chest before Malfoy launched forward and took his arm. He didn't think he'd ever heard Malfoy swear this much before- that posh demeanor wouldn't allow it, god forbid his social circles. 'Fuck' sounded so much harsher from such a stupidly pretty mouth.  
“I'm not trying to fight you, twat. I just wanted to buy you a drink. I thought you looked nice for once. If you want to fight, that's your own business. Let me go home.” He tried to yank his arm away, but couldn't squirm out of Malfoy's furious grip. Malfoy's face flushed a deep red as he scoffed.  
“Look, Potter. I'm just trying to move on and live my life, but if you want to fuck around with me and stare all night go right ahead, I'm more than happy to ignore you for the rest of my natural-born life.” On the last few words, he let go- which would have been great news for Harry, had he not tried to yank away at just that moment. The momentum hurled him to the ground, and as Malfoy was going to turn back to the bar and go back to his drink and his friend, only to drown in both for the next three hours, he turned his head back at the last moment he could have to see Potter's head smack on the pavement with a thud.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so I might take a little long to update, but I promise I will! Comments put food on my family's table! Haha, just kidding. I don't have a family. 
> 
> The tags are probably going to change a lot as I make plot choices and update.


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